Missing Data
by chicomarx
Summary: In the infamous Arkham Asylum, a patient physically and mentally scarred by a 'freak' accident that took place years ago sits forgotten in her cell. Set in Gotham years after the original Batman's death, meant as the first short story in a series.
1. Shard

Ok, stop me if you've heard this one…  
Hehe! Ha ha ha… Oh, oh, wait…  
Ya, so, there was this cell in a lunatic asylum, and most people had forgotten about the person inside, you see, because people don't like to think about things that they might not understand. Anywho, there was this cell…

BANG.

The impact hit like a colourful, spiky sound effect from an old comic. She could almost see the white capital letters amid the exploding colours as the back of her head made contact with the concrete floor. There was some warm liquid filling her mouth. It might have been blood. It tasted like blood.

The figure jumped back in an instant and, before losing momentum, propelled herself at the most solid surface in the room: the metal edge around the door. She put all she had into that punch, and there was a satisfying little cracking noise somewhere down in her wrist as her knuckles made contact.

She stumbled backwards, ready to launch an attack on a different part of the room, but the pain suddenly intensified and shot up her arm to her elbow. She covered her mouth with her other hand, (when had that blood got all over her fingers?) attempting to muffle the scream that almost instantly turned into insane giggling.

There were a lot more colours popping in front of her eyes now. Too bad she couldn't enjoy them, what with the dizziness and all.

No one would come up yet, the guards responded painfully slowly to any commotion on this floor, there was still time. She flattened her back against the wall, then pushed off as hard as she could, aiming a jump at the wall opposite. The funny thing about the padding in this cell was that it ended a few inches below the ceiling, and there was a little ridge where it ended. As the cell's resident had found out, it was _just_ possible to jump up, grab the top of the padding with the sides of your hands, then pull yourself towards the ceiling. It got easier with practise. All it took was the right momentum.

Of course, she mused as she ran the short distance in long strides, no one had bothered to install a surveillance camera in **this** room, so no one would ever know that she could jump high enough to reach the ledge. Not unless they watched though the window in the door, and that was something no one liked to do.

She was just about to do some kind of unprofessional high-impact flip off the ceiling, when everything went black. It was the kind of blackness that not only blocks your vision, but seems to spread into your mind, cutting off all thought pathways. The annoying kind.

As the unconscious figure lay sprawled on the floor, crimson pools of blood began to spread out, first fast, then slower and slower. Before it soaked through her hair, it created an almost festive effect, the green strands floating over the small red puddles of blood.

:)

It was quite the occasion. Balloons, ribbons and creased paper streamers were tied to every available space, so as they were always rubbing against guests and getting caught in hair and buttons. The 20-or-so children ran around the backyard while parents sat or stood in the living room, mostly chatting. There was a large cake on a table out on the deck, with eight unlit candles and "HAPPY BIRTHDAY AIDEN!" written across it with green icing.

There was a sort of tent set up in the yard; more of a canvas supported by four poles, really. Under it stood a nervous girl with her hands in her pockets. She was a teenager, almost done of high school. Her skin was a dark tan, and she had long black hair tied into low-hanging pigtails. In the pockets of her oversized chequered overalls, she fiddled with rubber juggling balls.

"Ok kids! Time for the magician!"

_Thank god that's not me_, the girl thought as the sugar-high children ran expectantly towards the tent, _I could never handle this many people by myself._

She stood by as the magician entertained the kids with tricks and jokes, sometimes acting as his assistant when he needed a table moved or a prop held. The kids thought him hilarious, with his long blue jacket and funny top hat, and they became increasingly energetic until-

"And now kids, would you like to see my assistant perform her **amazing** juggling trick?"

There were scattered cheers.

The magician side-stepped away as the girl stepped up. Some parents in the back clapped encouragingly. She took a deep breath.

First three balls came out of her pockets, then four. She pulled a fifth then sixth out with one hand as she juggled the first four with the other hand. To make it a little more interesting, she walked around a bit, continuously keeping her eyes on the balls. She did a couple of tricks, then, to finish it off, threw all the balls up into the air. As they fell, she caught one on the top of her foot, two in each hand, and one balanced precariously on the top of her head. As she bowed awkwardly, however, the one on her head fell to the ground and rolled a distance away through the grass.

A few children laughed, then they all broke out into applause. She bowed again, grinning sheepishly.

"Let's give her a hand!"

But she had already pocketed the runaway ball and was leaving the party.

Four teenagers sat alone at the bus stop. Three were smoking, the other watched people walk by. Soon, he reached over and tapped his friend on the shoulder.

"There she is."

"Who now?"

"That chick," He pointed out the Asian girl hurrying along the street. A bit of chequered clothe stuck out of the bag she carried over her shoulder. "The one that owes us."

One of the guys leaned over to get a better view. "Her? Huh… What's she in such a rush for?"

"Her parents probably don't want her out, ya know. They must have heard from **someone** that there's some guys around who'd like a piece of her."

At that moment, the girl happened to look across the street at the bus stop. Seeing the four guys, she paused for half a second, then started running. She turned down an alleyway, still running at top speed.

"Should we go after her?"

"Naw." One of the guys who hadn't spoken yet took the cigarette out of his mouth and said, "We'll get other chances. Better chances. Someone could interfere, out on the street during the day like this. We've got to make a point; let everyone know what happens to people who cross us."

The others nodded, pretending they understood what he was implying. Then they went back to their silent smoking, watching as the people walked by.

:)


	2. Fragments

"Looks like she did it again."

"Oh no, not _that_ one…" The doctor sighed, then came up to the door alongside her co-worker. She gazed in through the door's window, past the bars built in between the plastic, and what she saw didn't please her. It had already been a long night at Arkham. "For goodness sake, how did she manage to do that to herself? Somebody has to do something about this…"

"No one's done anything about her in ages, Hannah. She's been here forever– longer than I've worked here, at least- and everyone's scared of her. Even other patients are scared of her. Not that she's done anything violent… Other than this sort of thing, of course, but…. The way she looks, I suppose… or… well…" He trailed off.

Hannah sighed. "This just isn't working. With her. Only enough's being done to keep within regulations, and that isn't nearly enough. Things need to change."

"You know there's nothing we can do about it."

"Have they even **tried** to help her?"

"They have, Hannah. But this is an odd case, and I can't imagine they got anywhere… made any progress. Look, if you want to change things, you could talk to someone up at head office."

"No… No, you know that won't help, John. You know what they're like."

"Well… But look, your shift's almost over. How about I finish up down here, and you can go get ready to leave?"

She sighed. "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then." As she walked down the hall, her high-heels made clicking noises that echoed off the walls; she looked over her shoulder and said "Thanks."

John waved a hand as if to say "No problem."

She woke up to voices outside her cell, faint and unintelligible through the walls. The blackness still seemed to linger around the edges of her vision, so she lay very still to prevent herself from losing consciousness again. A great deal of the pain had subsided, giving way to an aching soreness that stung with every tiny movement or breath. There was some dried blood crusted over her lips. She licked that off.

When her vision cleared, she sat up slowly and carefully. She stared at the blood staining the floor. She imagined people standing around her, looking down at her, blank faces of insincere concern, and insane laughter began to fill the cell, echoing off the padded walls. She clutched at her chest, trying to keep her breath, even as her injured limbs screamed out in pain. She couldn't stop laughing, and she didn't want to. She never wanted to stop.

:)

The Asian girl stood in front of a bookshelf, gazing at the collections of old newspaper articles, sorted in folders and binders. It had been nearly a month since the birthday party she had preformed at, and she hadn't preformed at another one since. This was fine by her; more free time, less stress. She didn't really need the money, anyway. It was just something she liked to do.

The library was nearly empty, with only one or two people in it besides herself. As she searched, it seemed to her that she was making a lot of noise. It took her a great deal of time and patience, but less than an hour before the library closed, she finally found it.

Enclosed in plastic sheets, old yellow newspaper articles inside a huge blue binder. She flipped through them slowly, paying careful attention to headlines and dates. A huge number of the articles were about crime; in a city where unlawful acts used to occur with astonishing frequency, only the most horrendous crimes made the big stories. Murder, rape, and violent theft proclaimed itself in bold black letters as she skimmed the pages. It was a shadow that Gotham had only begun to move away from.  
Then she spotted it. It was a small column, only two short paragraphs running down the side of the front page. The story was about a break-in at a Gotham Chemical Plant.

She read the story, then took out a pen. Carefully, she wrote the name of the Plant on her hand, retracing the letters three times, to make sure they wouldn't rub off. She sat there deep in thought as the clock ticked fifteen more minutes away. Then, putting the binder back on the shelf and shoving the pen back into her pocket, she left the library.

It would be hard to sneak out of the house at night, but she wasn't about to risk doing it during the day. Her parents didn't want her out nowadays, but what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. It was bad enough that she planned to sneak out to an old chemical plant, even worse that she could never explain to them why.

:)

"Why don't you explain to me why you think you're here."

"I am totally devoid of opinion on that matter."

"Really?"

"No. You're writing with pen, though, so you just wasted a couple of lines."

He was about to cross out what he had written, but caught sight of the grin she was giving him, and instead sighed and put the clipboard down on his lap. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples with his thumbs, hoping it would clear his head. Why he had to be here was a mystery to him. All he knew was that some idiot had complained, or made a suggestion, or whatever, and now he had this psychopathic girl sitting in front of him. This wasn't supposed to be his job.

Opening his eyes, he again looked at the girl. "Girl" wasn't precisely the right word for her. She must have been over twenty, despite being oddly small and skinny. And pale. Not even pale; her skin was whiter than the whites of her eyes. Even her lips were white. Since she was wearing all white, baggy clothes, and they were sitting in a white room, it was sort of like looking at a polar bear in a snowstorm. Except for her hair, which was long a dark green-ish, and her fingernails, that started black at the roots and made their way up to a purple-ish colour. Her eyes too, which were almost certainly brown, but if the right light hit them, they almost looked…

Speaking of that, she was looking at him with the oddest expression. Meaning, even more freaky than she'd been for the past half hour.

"Long day?" She asked.

Slightly surprised, he ran his fingers through hit hair and sat up straight. "Well, ya, I guess. It doesn't matter or anything."  
He mentally flinched at how unprofessional he was being.

"Do you have a family?" She asked it so innocently, sitting there with her feet swinging like a little girl. It seemed, though, that she couldn't have said anything creepier.

"Yes," He said, regaining some trace of his composure, "Yes, I do."

"I feel sorry for them."

"What?"

"I feel sorry for them," She said slowly, watching his expression change like it was the most interesting thing in the world, "Having a father like you."

He felt a sudden surge of anger rise up in him, but he forcefully suppressed it. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and asked "And what do you mean by that?"

She leaned back casually, bringing her socked feet up in front of her then letting them fall back under the chair. "All I mean is, it's too bad they don't have someone more suitable for a father. I can tell a lot about people when I first meet them. It's sort of a talent of mine, really. You don't have any resolve, you don't have control over the situations you're in. You're weak ,and someday someone's going to take advantage of that."

Before he knew what he was doing, he had risen to his feet and grabbed her roughly by the collar of her shirt. "_**Shut up**_ you bi- !!" He managed to stop himself. Afraid that someone could have come in the room and seen him, he glanced over his shoulder. The door was still closed, and the only window in the room still had the blinds shut tightly. It slowly dawned on him that no one could see him, and no one was going to come. They had dumped this job on him because no one else wanted to get involved with it, and nobody else would.

He looked back at her and saw that she was smiling. Not just smiling… she was trying not to laugh.

"Oooo, whatcha gonna do?" Every word she said was full of mocking criticism, "God, you idiot, do you think I'd be intimidated by someone like you? Who would take you seriously?"

The answer she got was a strong blow to the face. His knuckles hit her somewhere below the left eye, and the force sent her reeling.

As he watched her hit the floor, he felt a mixture of dread and a strange satisfaction. He had never hit a girl before, but instead of feeling shame, it was somehow a relief. Still, it could have ended there, had she not started laughing. It was the kind of sound that you just wanted to stop. He wanted to make her stop.

As he lead her back to her cell, there were few people around, and nobody noticed the small bruises that were beginning to form on her face.

He glanced behind him once before he left Arkham for the night, after he had only walked a short distance down the hall from her cell. He could see her waving at him as he left, grinning from ear to ear.

:)


	3. Pieces

Ring. Ring. Riiiiing.

She played with the phone cord, wrapping it around her finger then undoing it, over and over.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to George please?"

"Speaking." Her voice held the tiniest trace of exasperation.

"Oh, sorry, hi. Me again."

"Hi. Hey, no offense, but don't you have homework or something to do? You've been out all weekend."

"Ya, I know, I know. But Mr. Math-teacher doesn't even check the homework, and I don't have much else. I just really feel like talking to somebody." She continued to fiddle with the phone cord, pulling the coils apart and scrunching them together.

There was a short pause. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing… Nothing in particular. Just, ya know, want to talk."

Another pause. "You could try going to the police again."

"No, no, that's not it. I'm not afraid of those guys, honest. I'm ok, seriously."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

"So why do you keep calling me?"

She sighed. "I just need somebody to talk to. I'm just feeling kind of nervous."

"About what?"

"Well, not really nervous, just… Nevermind. Maybe I should go do that math homework."

"Alright. Guess I'll see you in school then. Take care of yourself."

"I will. Thanks George."

"No prob."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Click.

:)

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Tv."

"…"

"Why I don't get to watch tv. Every time I come here, I always pass this room with a tv, and it's always turned on, and there's always someone watching it."

"You like tv?"

"No."

"…"

"I like the News. When I passed by today, there was something on the News about a guy who killed his family and got sent to Arkham. I want to know which guy he is, so I can congratulate him."

_Why does he even bother to do this conversation-thing anymore?_

She twisted her hand around in its socket a few times. It made a small clicking noise with each rotation.

"Are you going to beat me up today?" She asked, looking at her wrist.

"You act like you want me to."

"I think that you may be delusional. Y'know, I know this great psychiatrist over at Arkham…"

"You're crazy."

She gave a great theatrical sigh. "Well, it's always going to be a negative thing if you say it like _that_."

:)

That night there was a faint wind blowing, constantly pulling her hair over her face, where it stuck until she pushed it away. The sky was nearly cloudless, and the stars shone faintly through the haze of the city. Once she was out of sight of her house, she started walking at a brisker pace, and the scenery around her seemed to meld into a blur as she passed.

The streets weren't busy, and she saw fewer and fewer people as she went on. She'd been dreading the long walk, but it seemed to take only a few minutes to reach her destination.

Like some weird medieval castle, the old factory towered imposingly above its surroundings. Parts of it had already been torn down. A truck was parked near the road, loaded up with concrete rubble. The whole place was dark, quiet, abandoned. She pulled a large flashlight out of her backpack before starting up towards the entrance. She wasn't sure now that there'd even be anything inside.

*

The place seemed even bigger from the inside, partly because the part of the building she was in was entirely empty. At one time there had been a second and third floor; all that remained of them were jagged slabs of concrete and metal sticking out of the walls in two rings high above her, where the floors used to be. She followed a set of rusty stairs with the beam of her flashlight, up to where it ended abruptly in thin air. She moved on to explore the rest of the building.

_I wonder what this place used to look like._ She opened a door to find herself facing a wall of rubble. She moved on.

_Things were so different back then. Even Grandpa was just a little kid. I wonder why someone would want to break into a place like this?_

She'd found a set of stairs. They seemed sturdy enough. Shining the flashlight along the walls and ceiling, it looked safe. Nothing that would collapse or fall down on her. Still, her hand trembled slightly as she clutched the railing, and she took every step with great care, afraid it would all fall away beneath her.

Once she reached the top, her fears subsided and were replaced with fascination. This room was also huge, with a metal catwalk extending from her side to an unseen opposite wall. As she stepped cautiously onto the catwalk, she aimed her light over the railing to the floor below. Situated on both sides, a good distance down, were giant metal mixing vats. A couple were empty, their bottoms encrusted with salt-like stuff, and you could see where the pipes were attached to suck liquids in or out of the vats. Most were full of liquid, and when she shined her light on them, the walls glistened green with their reflection.

*

A teenage boy was standing in the alley between a shoe shop and a Chinese restaurant, smoking, waiting for his friends. They were inside, arguing with the restaurant's owner. He wished they'd hurry up. The neon lights proclaiming 'TAKEAWAY' were blinking on and off at irregular intervals, and it was starting to hurt his eyes.

He glanced across the street just in time to see a girl wearing a backpack hurry past. He leaned sideways to get a better look, and see which direction she was heading. As soon as she was out of sight, he ran into the Chinese restaurant.

- It feels like a long time since I last updated this _ _ . I've changed houses _twice_ since I wrote the last chapter, and the library, my only source of a computer, has moved once (re-painting the old place....). I've been having a lot of fun writting this (seriously), but it's also making me realize how far I still need to go before I can write at the level that I want to. Anyway, there should be a fourth and final chapter sometime in the near/not so near/uncertain future. -


End file.
